Lesson One
by ohlawsons
Summary: She's gathered around her a group of Force users who are nothing but loyal to her, who could be manipulated as she saw fit and wouldn't dare question her. They're pawns, as Kreia puts it, and yet Senna has no desire to bend Atton to her will — not like she does the others.
_**A/N:**_ _it's been a while since I've played either of the kotor games and I've never written any kotor-era stuff, so here goes
_ _set after atton reveals his past, at no particular point during the main plot_

* * *

"Then you have skills we can use."

Atton blinks, replaying the words in his mind once, twice, a third time. It's taken weeks to muster the courage to admit to his past, and he expected a fight at worst, acceptance at best — _not_ what sounded vaguely like encouragement.

Senna sits in the copilot's chair, legs crossed, thin fingers gliding over the blonde braid draped over her shoulder. She hasn't moved since Atton began explaining, looking distant and uninterested. _Bored_ , even. He knows she's waiting for a response, but he's still trying to process her reaction — or lack thereof. She frowns, a thin eyebrow arching upwards. "It's valuable experience," she offers, voice somewhere between innocent and thoughtful.

Emotion flares within him; not anger — it's difficult to be angry with her these days — but frustration, irritation. "I'm trying to be honest with you for once, not start some Jedi torture club."

"Aren't you?" She uncrosses her legs, stretching them out in front of her. "If you're really trying to be honest, then tell me — why reveal all this if not to win my favor?"

"I'm not—" He stops, mouth snapping shut as quickly as it had opened. Senna is right, of course; Atton _had_ been trying to earn her favor, but not in the way she suggested. He'd wanted to tell the truth, to bare himself to her as he hadn't before. They'd been traveling together for months, sleeping together for nearly as long, but how many conversations had they had that didn't rely on sarcasm and witticisms?

Exactly _one_ , by Atton's count.

He feels her mind reach out to him, searching, only seconds before she leans forward and reaches over. Her fingers are cold against his skin as she tilts his chin, forcing him to look her straight in the eyes.

Her eyes, Senna's brilliant blue eyes, eyes that are too often hidden by the bloodlust and rage of the dark side. Atton half expects them to be concealed by the golden shimmer that's becoming increasingly familiar, but there's just _Senna_ , as open and honest as he's ever seen her. "I appreciate the risk you took by telling me." Her voice is quiet, expression pensive, and she hesitates before continuing. "Honesty is dangerous — _lethal_ , in the right hands."

It's an unnervingly _Kreia_ thing for her to say, and Atton's thoughts shift momentarily to the woman's attempt to blackmail him into staying by using the very information he just willingly gave to Senna. Though, there was little chance of him leaving now; despite his annoyance at being caught up in Senna's crusade, he was drawn to her, and it wasn't just about the sex anymore.

"Honesty's overrated," he shrugs, hoping to brush the entire incident off now that his confession is out in the open. She knows, she hadn't snapped at him, and she wouldn't be using his experience at breaking Jedi to her advantage — though that last point he's less sure about.

"I agree." Her voice is coy, more like he expects from her. "I have a request, Atton." Senna folds her hands in her lap, her tone suggesting that whatever she's about to say is very much _not_ a request.

The fact that she still uses _Atton_ is a small relief, but one he's glad for. "Shoot."

"Allow me to train you. If you wish for me to overlook your acts as an interrogator, _fine_. But I refuse to ignore your connection to the Force." She pauses, eyes narrowing as she stands. "Without interference from the Jedi or the Sith, you could grow to be powerful." Another pause as she lowers herself onto his lap, straddling him. " _I_ could make you powerful." Her lips trail across his jawline, breath warm against his skin as she speaks. "Allow me to train you."

Part of him knows he should be wary, should question the delight in her tone and the way she speaks as if he's nothing more than a tool, a weapon for her to wield. But part of him — _most_ of him, if he's being honest — is focused only on the familiar weight of Senna as she rests against him. "Why not?"

"Very well." Her words cut off abruptly, lips and teeth and tongue ghosting across his neck. "Consider this _lesson one_."

* * *

 _You knew_.

Kreia's response is tinged with disapproval. _Is that an accusation, or merely an observation?_

Fighting the urge to march across the ship and confront Kreia in person, Senna settles for burying her face in her pillow. Atton is asleep beside her, though she can sense he's just as restless as she is. She's been awake for hours, despite her exhaustion after the afternoon's activities; training a half dozen Force sensitives while also trying to keep up with her own training takes more out of her than she cares to admit.

Yet she's still unable to sleep, and Kreia is the only other one still awake.

 _That depends on your intentions. How did you plan to use that knowledge — besides_ not _telling me?_

 _The better question is how do_ you _plan to use it? He is weak, and a fool, and you would be foolish to continue to concern yourself with him_.

A surge of protectiveness sparks within her; grimacing, Senna pushes against Kreia's presence in her mind, blocking the woman from her thoughts. In truth, she hasn't yet decided what to do with Atton. She could train him as she trains the others — but to what end? She's gathered around her a group of Force users who are nothing but loyal to her, who could be manipulated as she saw fit and wouldn't dare question her.

They're pawns, as Kreia puts it, and yet Senna has no desire to bend Atton to her will — not like she does the others.

 _Then I'm foolish_. Senna reaches back out to Kreia, preparing herself for the inevitable response.

 _So you are._

It's less scathing than Senna expects. Closing her mind off once again, she shifts so she's laying on her side, content to simply watch Atton as he sleeps. She's found herself often wondering how things might have been different if they'd met _before_ , in the years she spent without the Force. She'd imagined them standing as equals, as smugglers or criminals looking only to make a few credits and have a bit of fun while doing it.

Now, she wonders if some version of that scenario is within reach, if they could stand together as… whatever Senna is now. Not Jedi, but not Sith — something _more_ , something free of both orders.

She has plans to conquer the galaxy, to impose her will upon its inhabitants — the prospect of Atton being at her side while she does so is infinitely more appealing.


End file.
